


Plan B

by tersa (alix)



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Rare Pairing, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as a one-shot that has grown into a longer AU story arc re-imagining selected events after Act II through the end game from a circle!Bethany's POV, as if Fenris got entangled with her romantically and not Hawke. It attempts to deal in more depth with the conflict I see inherent in a Fenris/mage relationship (as opposed to the more generalized one forced on the game), especially one involving a mage in the Circle, and one possible path by which Fenris would come to terms with that dichotomy.</p><p>Any perceived similarities to the Fenris/Hawke Romance of the game is deliberate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mark of the Assassin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arysani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysani/gifts).



> Written for a Ficmas 2011 prompt: "Fenris/Circle!Bethany - Bethany after spending some time at the Circle and a little sharper tongued than when she left {gen, ship, anything involving these two}"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bethany has never had much luck with romantic or physical relationships--being a mage made it difficult in Lothering and Kirkwall, and the Tower at the Gallows is definitely *not* like the one Anders described in Ferelden.
> 
> On the road to Orlais, she finally has her 'first time'...with probably the worst person to do so with.
> 
> (License was taken with the travel to Orlais for the events of "Mark of the Assassin", although this includes no spoilers.)

**  
_Sometime after the end of Act II…_   
**

Bethany found Fenris leaning against a wall in the tavern with one leg cocked up, foot tucked up behind him, and handed him a mug of what passed for wine. Startled, he glanced over to her, grunting thanks as he accepted it, then returned to his brooding study of…she wasn’t sure what, following the line of his gaze to find it. Marian was sitting at a table with that elf, Tallis, laughing at something Tallis had said. Her hand came down on Tallis’s forearm, and beside her, Fenris made a noise of disapproval.

“You don’t like Tallis?”

Fenris’s mouth worked as if tasting something foul, and he tipped back the mug as if the wine could wash it out. “No.”

Realization struck her, a sudden glimmer of understanding. “But you like her.”

His gaze dropped into his mug, and his response was a non-answer. “She’s living with Merrill.”

“Merrill!” Bethany said with astonishment, followed by a sniff of amusement. “I would have guessed Isabela, although I suppose,” she went on musingly, “she understands what it means living with a mage.” When Fenris angrily downed the rest of his drink, Bethany put a hand on his forearm, trying to calm him. “It’s not your fault, Fenris. Marian’s always preferred women over men.”

He watched as Marian and Tallis rose from the table and headed up the stairs to the rooms and tossed his empty cup on an unoccupied table. Once again ignoring her words, he said, “We should do the same, she’ll want to start early again tomorrow.”

With a sigh, Bethany acquiesced, stifling the pang of longing that stabbed at her. Marian had never wanted for companionship, female _or_ male, if she’d wanted it, although Bethany had only ever known her to be with a man once, when Marian had been a teenager and Bethany barely eight. Years later, she’d shyly asked about it, something Marian had been all too happy to relate with mocking enthusiasm. Bethany had always wanted that experience, but fear that someone would find out what she was had prevented her in Lothering and then Kirkwall. Now in the Circle, she’d wished she’d joined in Ferelden, which Anders had made out to be as raunchy a place as the Blooming Rose. Everyone in the Gallows was too frightened of Meredith to violate _that_ rule.

She reached the door of the room she was sharing with Marian and stopped in her tracks at the sight of the red ribbon tied to the knob. How… _dare_ she?

“Can I stay with you?”

The question brought Fenris up short, a slight swaying before he settled betraying he was more in his cups than Bethany had at first though. His expression furrowed in a confused frown, but he shrugged without further inquiry and continued his track to the corner room stuffed under the eaves he was to have shared with Tallis. As Bethany expected, it was empty. If Fenris was surprised by the fact, he didn’t show it, settling on the tiny room’s one stool to begin pulling off his boots. “You may have the bed,” he finally did say.

A wave of recklessness swept through Bethany at his offer, fueled by anger and jealousy at Marian, coupled with ruthless practicality. “Nonsense,” she said crisply. “This is your room, and I’m more than capable of sharing. It’s _freezing_ in here. Maker’s Breath, I can’t believe they had the temerity to give this room out to anyone.” When he gave her a wary, sidelong look, she made a scoffing snort, guessing his reluctance. “I’m not a monster, Fenris.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said stiffly, to which she threw up her hands. Shedding her outer robe, she spread it out over the blankets for a little extra warmth, then dove under the covers, considering if she could use some sort of fire spell to warm the sheets up without burning the entire place down. Instead, she shivered until the bedclothes finally captured a cocoon of warmth from her body heat, but still sleep was elusive.

She had just barely began drifting when Fenris stirring woke her, and his cautious, “Bethany.”

“Yes?” she answered just as quietly.

“You were right.”

With a smirk that was lost in the darkness of the room, she said kindly, “Get up here, you stubborn idiot.”

She lifted the corner of the blankets closest to where he laid, a gust of frigid air displacing the fleeting warmth she’d managed to hoard, but he accepted the invitation and slid in beside her, colder even than the air. Forgetting herself, him, she put a hand on his arm and rubbed it vigorously, feeling heat from the friction, that he accepted until his shaking subsided and he pulled his arm from her grasp with, “Enough.”

With a disapproving hmph, she turned her back to him. His presence _was_ distracting, making her aware of his masculine scent, the carnal warmth of his body. But as time passed, she began to relax.

“You’ve changed since you went to the Circle,” he said, breaking the silence again.

She thought she detected a note of wondering disbelief in his voice, and a corner of her mouth tipped up in a smile. “How so?”

“I don’t remember you being so…confident.”

“I wasn’t,” she admitted easily. “I’m happier now that I don’t have to hide who I am all the time.”

He made a noise she couldn’t interpret, acknowledgement, disapproval, then subsided.

Eventually, she fell asleep.

#####

She awoke to the feel of arms around her, a lean body pressed against her, hot breath curling over her neck and raising the fine hairs there in sensitized arousal. Knowledge that it was Fenris followed, and her hand moved of its own volition trailing down the long muscles of his spine, making his breath catch in his lungs.

“Command me to go, and I shall.” His voice, rich and deep, vibrated the small bones in her ears and sent delicious tendrils unfurling across her skin.

“Who said anything about going?” she teased. He was trembling, and not from the temperatures in the room. Exultation, _desire_ , flooded through her, that he wanted her, even if he seemed too afraid to do anything about it. It gave her the courage to lean in and kiss his neck, lips trailing along the taut skin that he bared to her in her passing, the headiness of his reaction enflaming her to do more.

Hands roamed—hers, then his—plucking at clothing to bare bodies, touching, fondling, caressing, no languor to the motions at all, just driving need. She found herself guided downwards, his cock exposed and hard, and dreamily recalled Marian’s descriptions of what it was like to take it in her hand, her mouth, rewarded by his hand tangling in her hair and cupping her skull and the soft moans emanating from him as he rocked into the sensation. Wetness dampened her thighs, tingling, until she decided she wanted him inside her, to know what it felt like, and pulled herself up to wriggle upwards, draping a leg over his hip.

It was all the invitation needed, and with a quaking hand, he touched her waist once, assurance, signal, she wasn’t sure which, but it withdrew, to be replaced by his fingers sliding into her slit, rubbing at the pearl there until she bit back a cry, and the head of his shaft joined his fingers, probing until it slid into her, and he exhaled a groan.

She was beyond herself, riding the wave of increasing pleasure as he began stroking in and out of her, throaty moans music to her ears and pushing her higher, until too soon, before she was ready, his body tensed, and she felt liquid heat fill her. Whimpering protest, she worked himself on him, striving for climax, but he shuddered and pulled out of her, leaving her dazed and unfulfilled.

He put further distance from her, not touching her, when he shifted to fix his clothing. In muzzy confusion, she asked, “Was it that bad?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said, guilt dripping dual-edged with pain and vulnerability. “It was…wonderful. No. Better than I could have ever imagined it.”

“What then?”

“This was a mistake,” he said harshly. “You’re…”

Rage kindled, flared in Bethany’s chest. She snapped, “Not her?”

“No.” It was definitive, at least, although his voice broke. “A mage.”

She rolled out of the narrow bed and snatched her robe off it, yanking it onto her arms. “I should go.”

He didn’t stop her.

The ribbon was gone from the door knob, a fact she barely registered as she twisted it open and refrained, barely, from slamming behind her. _Marian’s_ room had a fire and two beds, one for each of them, and she was angered anew to see Tallis sleeping in the other. Shedding her robe again in quick practice, she tossed it carelessly on the floor and flounced into Marian’s bed, causing her to start into wakefulness as Bethany settled with her back to her.

“Are you okay?” Marian asked in drowsy tones.

“Fine,” Bethany whispered back, sharp and chilly.

Marian subsided and snuggled up to Bethany, just like when she was a child, she remembered, and fell back asleep.

Sleep eluded Bethany, lost in memories of a newer sort, until tears spilled from her eyes and she wept herself into exhausted unconsciousness.


	2. Questioning Beliefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two years since that night on the road to Orlais when Fenris walks back into Bethany's life asking uncomfortable questions.
> 
> A partial re-imagining of Fenris's Act III "Questioning Beliefs" quest based on the Bethany Romance premise.

**  
_Act III_   
**

Being approached by a templar, especially in the past couple of years, was always something that would set a mage’s heart to pounding and mind to racing back to determine if there was anything, _anything_ that might be construed as suspicious and readying defenses if so. When it was Knight-Captain Cullen, it was mingled with cold fear. It didn’t matter that he had a reputation of being stern but fair, he was still the Knight-Commander’s right hand man and responsible for more than his fair share of punishments meted out, justly or no.

Bethany tried to control the shaking in her hands as he walked towards her after her class with the apprentices, lifting her chin. She was innocent and had to believe that.

“You have a visitor.”

For a moment, she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. There seemed to be mild disapproval in it, but…that was it? She tried to figure out why Ser Cullen, of all people, had come to bring her the message, and concluded it must have to do with Marian. Ever since she’d become Champion of Kirkwall, the templars had seemed to take a special interest in _her_ , frequently grilling her for more information about her famous sister. And since the confrontation with Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino in Hightown a few weeks ago, that interest had become increasingly ugly.

“I’ll go to her immediately,” she said, smoothing down her robes while simultaneously wiping dampness from her palms.

“He,” Cullen corrected. “I’ll escort you.”

‘He’? Marian was the only one who came to visit her, and she only rarely. Only once before had a man come, and that had been Uncle Gamlen when Mother had died, and… “Oh, Maker. Has something happened with my sister?” she asked with a wave of panic as they walked towards the courtyard.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Cullen responded, shooting her an odd sidelong look. “You’ll have to ask him.” A gauntleted hand touched the small of her back while the other swept towards the sweeping staircase that led up to the main entryway of the Gallows fortress, indicating where she should go, and the incongruous thought went through her head that if only, in another lifetime…

The thought fled when she followed the direction of his indication and saw Fenris standing there, for all appearances taking in the architecture.

She hadn’t seen him since the debacle in Orlais, since Marian had been gulled by Tallis into helping her retrieve intelligence for the qunari and, oh, by the way, ending in the deaths of two Orlesian nobles. Two years, give or take a few months. The brief, bright pain he’d caused her had dulled—she knew he _had_ hurt her, quite a bit—but time and distance had brought with it perspective, leaving her with memories she hoarded as flawed but precious, something no one had ever given her before or since, that she would bring out and hug to herself when things were particularly difficult.

And now he was _here_ , and she had no idea why.

Putting a hand to calm the twinge of anxiety in her belly, she approached him.

He turned at the sound of her advance—no, _whirled_ , she amended—shoulders squared and spine straight, as if steeling himself. He watched her, until she was so near she had to stop, and still he didn’t speak.

“Fenris. Did something happen with my sister?”

Confusion. He shook his head minutely. “Your sister is well. I came to speak with you.”

“To me?” It was her turn to be bewildered. “Why?”

“Because I thought you might understand better than anyone else.”

“Understand what?”

“What I need to speak of.”

What residual attraction she might have for him was smothered in the irritation she felt from his circuitous explanation. Tamping it down, she planted the butt end of her staff firmly on the courtyard tiles and leaned on it. “You’re not making any sense. Would it help if we were to go inside? We can find a table in the hall…” She trailed off when she noticed he’d gone still, his eyes huge and fixed on her staff and cursed herself for drawing attention to it. “Oh, Maker’s breath, Fenris,” she snapped and reached over to lean the staff against the stone plinth that bisected the stairway, drawing her empty hands back palm outwards. “Or we can just sit here on the stairs.”

He cleared his throat and nodded. For lack of any other guidance, she decided he was agreeing to the latter suggestion and moved to sit on a step, tucking her robes primly beneath her. He joined her a moment later with a stiffness of motion that didn’t relate to her memories of his rangy fluidity.

She waited.

Lacing his fingers together, he leaned his forearms across his knees; with his chin tipped down, his white hair flopped like a curtain across his eyes, but she could still see them in profile. “Danarius is dead.”

The name ought to have meant something to her. He gave the three word statement a significance that hinted that it should, and it teased the back of her mind, until remembrance came. “Your old master in Tevinter?”

He made a noise of confirmation, gaze fixed on his long, slender hands. “Yet it doesn’t feel like it should. I thought finding Varania…my sister,” he explained, “would open up a new world. One that was lost forever. But it’s gone, and I can’t get it back.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, because—what else was there _to_ say? Her bafflement had not abated.

His next words did little to clarify things. “I am finally free. But none of it feels like it should. This freedom tastes like ashes.”

Anger stirred in her once more. “Fenris, why are you saying these things to me? Why do you think I would understand this more than Varric, or Isabela, or my sister?”

“I know it is not fair of me,” he said, sounding contrite and still not looking at her, “but you alone understand what it is like to live as a free person and to live without such freedom.”

The audacity of it took her breath from her. “You would say such a thing to me?” She wanted to say more, but she looked around quickly and spied the templars ringing the courtyard, knowing that if she spoke out too loudly things might go very badly for her. Instead, she balled her hands into fists in her lap and glared at him. Under her breath, she asked, “Why don’t you go talk to Anders?”

“The abomination,” he growled, equally low. “He hates, just as I do. It is a poison. No,” stated flatly, a muscle in his jaw working as he clenched it. “I think maybe it is time to leave this hatred behind. I just don’t know how.” He shot her a sidelong look, and it pierced her. It wasn’t fair how much he could still affect her. “You _could_ hate. You were free, and now you are not, but you seem…almost happy here.” He got a peculiar look on his face, one she couldn’t decipher, but then dropped his eyes again and went on. “What do I do now?”

“Fenris,” she said in an exasperated sigh. “We’re not exactly _friends_.”

A corner of his mouth curled in a tiny smile. “Yet, I respect you. Clearly, you’re doing something right.”

It was the smile that undid her. Giving vent to her frustration in a quiet, strangled noise, she sighed, exchanging ire for grudging attention to his sincerely intended questions. “You stop running. You make a life for yourself. Make a home. You have friends. People who like you. You find a new purpose, something to do with yourself.”

He asked softly, “Is that what you did?”

The question, and his tone, caught her off-guard, but she was far enough removed from the initial shock of her capture to answer evenly. “Yes. I guess. Before, I was free, but…I was like a flower grown under a pot for fear I would be crushed. Here…” She trailed off and swept her gaze around the courtyard, both taking in and reminding herself of the presence of the templars, “the fear is different, but I don’t have to hide who I am. I’m a teacher,” she said with a small, flickering smile of well earned pride that faded almost immediately. “I’m teaching the apprentices to be _good_ mages who follow the Chantry’s teaching, just like my father taught me.”

He tilted his head, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, “Do you consider this your home?”

Her answer came swift and decisive. “No. This is where I am, but it is not my home. My home was with my family, with Mother, and Marian, and even Uncle Gamlen, and before that with Carver and my father.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, she said, “Just because I have found a place does not mean this place should exist, or that I have a life here.” He shifted uncomfortably when she shuddered from head to toe, unable to look at her, and she straightened her spine, continuing in a more conversational volume, “You have an opportunity I can never have again. You are free of Danarius. Live. Love. Move out of that squalid mansion and find a nice girl to settle down with. Become a farmer. Or a merchant. Or a mercenary, if you must.” Impulsively, she reached out and covered his fingers not shielded by the spiky gauntlets and squeezed. “Do it for me, because I cannot.”

Startled at her touch, he straightened from his lean and stared at her hand, before extricating himself from the contact, but with such care, she could take no offense at it. “Thank you for your words. I will…think on what you said.”

He left. As Bethany watched him disappear through the front gate, she wondered if he was any more free than she was.


	3. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Carta attacks the Bethany and Marian in Kirkwall for 'the blood of the Hawke', Meredith allows Bethany to accompany Marian and her companions to investigate the reasons behind it on a certain condition that rankles Bethany and puts her at odds with him for most of the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The facts of the Legacy DLC were used as the foundation for this chapter, but, again, creative license was liberally used especially at the beginning that deviate from how Varric, at least, explained the set-up to Cassandra. :>

The dwarves showed little finesse when they attacked. The templars, curious to their presence in the Gallows, kept eyes on them, so that when the infiltrators finally tracked down their quarry—her—there was help at hand to fend them off. For a brief, exhilarating time as she fought, Bethany was reminded of her year spent free in Kirkwall, working at Marian’s side.

Reality set in when the Knight-Commander summoned her to her office along with the Knight-Captain and First Enchanter.

“Explain yourself,” Meredith demanded, skipping the niceties.

Bethany recoiled a step in wary confusion. “I was walking to my room after lessons, and those dwarves attacked me.”

“I can corroborate that,” Ser Cullen stepped in, before Meredith could respond. “I had the recruits Hugh and Keran watching the dwarves and witnessed the attack. It was unprovoked.”

Meredith rose from her seat and leaned on her desk. “What else can you tell me?”

Cullen shot Bethany a narrow-eyed look which she flushed under, reluctantly answering, “They were saying something about getting ‘the blood of the Hawke’. I didn’t understand what it meant.”

Making a thoughtful noise, Meredith turned to Orsino. “I don’t like that your mages feel open to using combat magic in the Tower. See to it it does not happen again.”

“That’s ludicrous, Meredith!” Orsino protested. “If Enchanter Bethany had not done so, she could be dead!”

“That’s what the templars are here for, to protect the mages. You will depend on their skill and training in the future.”

With a strangled noise of rage, Orsino turned on his heel and stomped out of the office. Taking her cue, Bethany dropped a hurried curtsey to the two templars and made to join him. Before the door closed behind her, she heard Meredith say in a grating voice, “Send word to the Champion of this.”

A day passed, two, three, and Bethany was beginning to think the whole incident would simply pass, when she was summoned once more to Meredith’s office—this time to find Marian, Fenris, and Varric there with Cullen again standing off to one side. Varric gave her a rough grin of greeting, but Fenris and Marian merely looked at her, the latter turning towards Meredith after Bethany’s entrance. Meredith spoke, as if picking up a conversation that had been in progress, “So you say it’s the dwarven Carta behind the attack,”

Marian nodded. “From what Varric has been able to dig up. They’ve attacked my estate twice. I’m going after them, and now that I know they went after Bethany, too, I’d like to bring her with me.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why not?” Marian challenged.

“I refuse to release a mage under my care out from under the authority of the templars, and I can’t spare any on what may be a fruitless chase that is no concern of ours.”

“Bethany spent years with me outside of your control, and she was just fine.”

“She was an apostate, and it was your _duty_ to the Chantry to have brought her to us, a duty you ignored when you were nobody. You are no longer nobody, Champion. You must set an example, and I do not trust you to do so after that incident a few weeks ago.”

“You were being unreasonable,” Marian snapped. “You are being unreasonable now.”

Before Meredith could explode, Cullen raised his voice to interrupt with, “Knight-Commander. You said this incident with the Carta is no concern of ours, but that is not so. If they have attacked the Champion in her home twice already, who is to say they will not attack Enchanter Bethany here again? Our casualties were light the first time, but perhaps we will not be so lucky next time. If a templar needs to accompany her, then I will go.”

“No,” Meredith said, making a cutting motion with her hand. “I need you here. Find another. Perhaps Ser Mettin.”

“I do not want a templar traveling with me,” Marian said coldly. “I have to be able to trust the people I work with.”

“Then I am sorry, Champion, but my answer is no.”

“I will do it.”

Everyone’s head swiveled to find the quietly spoken voice, Fenris uncoiling from where he had stood unobtrusively during the argument. Meredith’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Fenris went on, undaunted. “I bear no love for mages, I believe the Knight-Captain can attest to that.” Cullen nodded agreement as Fenris continued. “If you will not release her without someone to watch over her, and you,” he said, turning to Marian, “require someone you can trust, do I not suffice?”

Anger flared in Bethany, but she bit back her retort before Meredith and Cullen, the only show of it the heat she could feel burning her cheeks. If any noticed her reaction, they made no sign. Marian was jumping in with, “I would trust him, if you would.”

Meredith turned to Cullen. “Captain?”

“I have had opportunity to speak with the elf on occasion over the years, since the incident with Wilmod and Keran. I believe his experiences have left him with a proper attitude towards mages that align with our own. I would trust him with this charge.”

Pausing to consider, Meredith looked between the four—Cullen to Marian to Fenris to Bethany—then nodded. “Very well. I expect her to be returned here no later than two weeks time, issue resolved or no. If she is not, she will be hunted down.” The corners of her mouth turned up in an unpleasant smile. “It will not go well for you if we find you.”

Bethany gathered her things and left with the others, simmering. Despite it being one of the few times she’d been allowed to leave the Gallows since being taken in nearly six years ago, her anger prevented her from enjoying it, even after they were joined by Merrill and left Kirkwall to venture into the Vinmarks under Varric’s guidance. Biting back everything she wanted to say, speaking only when spoken to and in as few words as possible, she worked to reacclimate herself to the rigors of hiking cross-country in Marian’s wake.

Late in the afternoon, Varric drew abreast of her and asked, “Good to be out and about, Sunshine?”

Angry or not, Varric, she couldn’t be mad at. She’d missed him, missed talking to him, and cooled her temper to reply, “It's exciting, I'll say that. How much does someone want me dead to attack me in the Gallows?”

Voice dry, Varric said, “A Hawke attracting obsessives with a poor grasp of consequence? Color me stunned.”

Despite herself, Bethany laughed, bringing the heads of the others around to glance at her. “Be serious!” she said to Varric, but then noticed Fenris’s look was lingering and her humor faded.

“Sorry, I have a reputation to maintain,” he responded. But he was looking thoughtfully at Fenris’s back and sounded distracted.

That night after they’d made camp, everyone else in their bedrolls except Bethany, who stood watch, she heard a scuff of feet against the dusty rocks and turned to find Fenris approaching the lookout spot she occupied. Putting her back to him, she drew her knees up, hunching over them in a clear signal that she wanted to be left alone.

Unswayed by her posture, he dropped to his haunches beside the rock that served as her seat. Without preamble, he stated, “You are angry.”

“Noooo, what gave it away?”

“You are angry at me.”

Sounding a soft snort, she said cuttingly, “I can’t possibly think of _why_ I might be mad at you, Fenris.”

“I can’t,” he said. “What did I do to upset you?”

She fought to keep her voice down, having to take a couple of deep breaths before speaking again. “Putting yourself in the position as my keeper. I have enough of that from the templars, I hadn’t expected it from _you_.”

“It is not like that,” he protested quietly, tone puzzled.

“Isn’t it? ‘I bear no love for mages’. ‘His experiences have left him with a proper attitude towards mages that align with our own’,” she quoted mockingly, biting out the words. “If you wanted to be a templar, I’m sure they would take you.”

“I do not want to be a templar,” he said, tone flat enough that it brought her gaze around to look at him, although it was nearly impossible to see his expression with so little light and the small fire shielded below them. He shifted before he continued. “I did it for you.”

“Me?” she exclaimed.

His chin dipped in a nod. “I have thought much on what you said when I came to you. I wanted to give you the opportunity to get out of there, for a time.”

“By exchanging one jailer for another?”

“It’s not like that.”

“From where I sit, it is,” she said acidly, although her voice remained low-pitched. “I don’t see how you are any different than Danarius at the moment.”

His head jerked up at that, his breathing turning noisy with shock, and growled, “I am _nothing_ like Danarius!”

“You think to hold my leash as sure as he did yours all those years. And will you cut me down at some perceived infraction?” He was shaking his head in what she guessed was denial and pressed on inexorably. “That was the responsibility you accepted from the Knight-Commander.”

“You do not know of what you speak!” he snarled, leaping to his feet.

“I think I do. Do you?” she shot back at him, her voice icy.

He spun on his heel and stalked off through the circle of sleepers, disappearing on the opposite side before she let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A few seconds later, Varric’s voice broke the silence to mutter, “Good for you, Sunshine,” before going quiet once more.

It was small consolation against the ache hollowing out her chest.

#####

Bethany couldn’t sleep. It might not even be night, trapped as they were below ground in this darkspawn prison. The ceiling rose high overhead, in the darkness outside the range of their feeble fire, but she still felt as if the earth pressed down on her, making every breath she took labored. Even without the sensation of claustrophobia, her mind refused to shut down. She couldn’t stop thinking of the things she’d heard and learned since coming down here. About the Grey Wardens. About her father. There was a part of her that wanted to curl up in a ball and cry as she had when Father had died, to have Marian put her arms around her and tell her everything would be okay, but she remain dry-eyed.

Freezing at the sound of movement, even the realization that it was Marian rising to her feet and crossing to where Fenris laid to shake him awake for his turn on watch did little to calm her. She hated this place, hated the sense of corruption as if it coated her skin like slime, and she was still awake long after she heard Marian join Merrill, murmuring something indistinct before going quiet.

Abruptly, she didn’t want to be alone. The fact that Fenris was the only one awake gave her pause, but the need for company drove her out from under her blankets, dragging one with her draped over her shoulders like a shawl, and dropped to a seat next to him. The glance he gave her was startled—they’d spoken not at all since the argument on the way to this place—but he looked away, only his fingers picking at his other hand betraying his discomfort.

It was a long while—Bethany was unsure how long in this place impervious to the passage of time—before he broke the uneasy silence between them. “Did you mean what you said, about being dead already?”

It took a moment for her to remember what he was referring to, unaware he’d even heard that conversation with Marian earlier discussing what the taint had done to Larius. Once she did, she answered simply, “Yes.”

“Because of being in the Circle?”

She considered her response, thinking on what long explanations she could give to that, but discarded them all for another, “Yes.”

Another span of wordless time passed, weighing more and more heavily against her, until she began considering returning to her sleeping spot and trying to get some rest, when he said, “It felt like that being a slave sometimes, too.”

“Then you understand.”

He neither nodded nor shook his head, taking in the answer and replying, “You say you’re not like the other mages, that your father taught you to be a _good_ mage. Your father used blood magic.”

She went cold and shivered, Fenris giving voice to the thoughts that tormented her and kept her from sleep. “I know,” she whispered.

“What do you have to say to that?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip, feeling the grief, the sense of betrayal welling up in her. She clutched her blanket around her chest a little more tightly. “He never _once_ mentioned it to me. He never did it in front of me. Never taught me how to do it. He was always adamant about the evils of blood magic and resisting the temptation of power. ‘ _My magic will serve what’s best in me, not that which is most base._ ’,” she quoted, hearing her father’s voice in her head both from long memory and its echo a few hours ago. “I’ve always lived that. I wanted to be good, like him.”

“And he wasn’t,” Fenris noted implacably.

She hissed. “You can’t know that! You didn’t know him! Even here—now—look at what he did! He said he would only use his magic to keep those demons out of the world, and this darkspawn Larius speaks of. I can’t believe he wouldn’t have done so without very good cause.”

“So all mages would think.”

“We are not all evil. Yes, there are mages who are—that monster who killed my mother, Danarius—but you can’t judge all of us by just a few. Do you think _I’m_ evil?”

He looked away from her before saying, “No.”

“You know what it’s like not to be free, to feel like you’re dead, how can you possibly wish that on me?”

She was breathing hard, shaking from the rawness of the emotion she’d poured into her words, and when he didn’t answer, she tensed to rise. “I should not have spoken up to Knight-Commander Meredith,” he spoke, interrupting her motion and bringing her back to her seat.

“No,” she agreed emphatically, “you shouldn’t have.”

It was his turn to breathe noisily as he gathered himself and said, “I apologize.”

Her breath left her in a gust, and she sagged a little from the release of tension, before squaring her shoulders once more. “Your apology means little without belief behind it. The way things are now, they don’t work. You distrust all mages, think the templars have the right of it, but they exist and _still_ blood mages and abominations happen. Maybe there needs to be a different way.”

 

“I don’t distrust you,” he said quietly. The admission knocked the wind from her, and she blinked in stunned disbelief. Giving her a quick glance at her lack of response, he averted his eyes again and suggested, “You should try to get some sleep.”

Without acknowledgement, she returned to the small patch of stone she’d claimed earlier to stretch out and fail to fall asleep, new thoughts adding to the whirl of old.

#####

They had escaped the prison, Corypheus was dead, and it was time she returned to the Tower.

Marian’s dwarven servant showed Bethany out of the Estate with a cheery, “Good night!” and closed the door behind her. Pausing to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a shadow detached itself from the wall, and she brought her staff around, setting it to glow.

“It is I,” Fenris’s voice said harshly.

She tried to convince herself it was only fright that made her heart pound. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting to escort you back to the Gallows.”

She stiffened in affront. “You don’t think I’ll go on my own?”

“I know you will,” he said with simple confidence. “But the streets can be dangerous. Besides, even if I was wrong to take responsibility for you from Meredith, I gave her my word I would bring you back. If I don’t, she may not let you ever leave again, and…I can’t live with that.”

His tone touched her, even though she chastised herself for the reaction. Reluctantly, she agreed. “Very well.”

They walked in silence through the streets, Fenris nodding to the occasional city guard they encountered, and when a band of rough looking men and women sized them up outside the former qunari compound but then melted back at Fenris’s glare, she was glad he was with her.

He joined her at the railing of the boat that ferried her back to the Gallows, where she was looking up at it and feeling the walls close around her the closer they got. Eyeing the view, he murmured, “It is difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life. If I seem bitter, it is not without cause.”

“I know that,” she said softly, not looking away from the black edifice looming over the harbor filling her with despair. “Think of how it has affected mine.”

The boat docked, and Fenris leapt ashore to offer her assistance in disembarking. His hand was heated against her cold fingers, and she was startled when he did not disengage immediately, letting the touch linger. Glancing at her face quickly, he dropped his grip, but she felt the residual warmth when she tucked her hand into her sleeve and followed him back into her cage.


	4. Best Served Cold / The Last Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The romance cycle comes to a close through the conclusive events of the end game.

After the Carta, Bethany should have known better than to let her guard down, even within the Gallows, but there was little chance that she would have expected the direction of the next attack on her. Never having slept well since Carver’s death, since fleeing Ferelden, the unexpected noise in the hallway outside her room startled her to wakefulness. She had only blinked away confusion at the transition when the terrifying sensation of her connection to the Fade being disrupted swept over her, and her door opened to admit several templars. Before she could raise her voice to scream, a dizzying wave engulfed her, and she blacked out.

When she awoke, bright sunlight beat down on her face and sand crunched beneath her shoulders. She struggled to her feet and spied Marian standing with Fenris, Aveline, and Merrill, grim-faced, and corpses strewn about a stretch of beach she suspected was somewhere on the Wounded Coast.

“What happened?” she asked, taking it all in. “The last thing I remember is these templars coming into my quarters.”

“I thought you were better than this,” Marian teased, although an undercurrent of tension colored her words. “A couple of lousy templars, and you’re down.”

“I never found fighting templars to be a good policy in this town.”

“Champion,” Ser Cullen’s voice interrupted the reunion, and Marian turned to face the Knight-Captain, who jogged up with a squad of templars and a raggedy man who Bethany thought looked familiar but couldn’t place. A heated discussion ensued between them, joined by Aveline, Merrill shrinking away from notice. Bethany looked around at the bodies, identifying them: Ser Thrask, who she’d always thought to be so kind, ever since she’d first encountered him trying to help Feynriel; an abomination wearing Tower robes. To one side, Alain, one of the mages from Starkhaven Marian had helped escape years ago, cowered, holding a square of cloth to his wrist stained through with bright blood. Her eyes widened with horror.

“Blood magic,” Fenris growled softly from her elbow. “The boy said they held you with it.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” she asked in a broken whisper.

His head turned in the direction of Marian and Cullen. “Nothing, save be her sister.” Turning to face her, he touched a hand to her shoulder lightly. “Are you alright?”

She shuddered, but did not pull away. “No. I feel…unclean.”

“Like you have been tainted, and no amount of scrubbing will ever get you clean again.”

Startled, her heart thudding in her chest, her gaze flew up to meet his. “Something like that,” she said weakly.

For once, he didn’t look away, meeting her eyes squarely for long unbroken seconds, until Cullen’s raised voice intervened. “Enchanter Bethany.”

Guiltily, she jerked away from Fenris, turning towards the knot of sister, friends, and templars. “Knight-Captain,” she acknowledged quickly with a nod of her head.

“We are returning to the Gallows.”

“Of course,” she murmured. She wanted, desperately, to glance back over her shoulder to find Fenris, to say good-bye, but she forced herself not to do so.

Still, she felt she could imagine him watching her leave.

#####

Desperation filled the echoing cavern of the Harrowing chamber, heard in the soft crying of some of the apprentices, palpable even in those, like the First Enchanter, who said nothing. Outside the doors, Knight-Commander Meredith amassed her templars to break in and enact the Right of Annullment, legally or no, under a sky stained crimson from the burning wreckage of the Chantry. Standing by herself, separating herself from Orsino’s despair, Bethany threw a glance at Anders, the flaming spark that lit the conflagration, and the large bubble of space afforded him by the others. None of them, not even Varric, would look at him. Marian was talking to Merrill and took her hand, and they came together in a kiss that both embarrassed Bethany and made her achingly wistful.

“Bethany.” Fenris’s voice broke into her observation, and she turned away from the private moment to face him.

Damp soot smeared his face, fallout from the fire mingled with sweat from the fighting it took for Marian and her companions to reach the Gallows through the anarchy in the streets of the city. Strain lined his features. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I am surprised myself. I never thought to find myself defending mages…but here I am,” he said with a rise and fall of his shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He peeked at her through the fall of his hair, an almost shy look that quickened her pulse, to which she immediately chastised herself for being foolish. One man, one time...just because there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t make it out of here alive was no reason to feel this inconvenient surge of desire. Then he went and knocked down all of her sternly worded reproofs. “We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago.”

She felt the air go out of her lungs and difficulty drawing in a new breath. “I…” she gulped and tried again. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss it.”

Glancing away, he said quietly, “I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me.” His eyes closed. “But it isn’t better.”

“I did hate you,” she admitted. “Then, and several times after that, at least a little. You told me once I was the only one who might understand you. I thought the same of you.”

He shivered and looked at his feet. “I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. I should have asked your forgiveness long ago.” He brought his chin up, meeting her eyes. “I hope you can forgive me now.”

“Now?” A short, brittle laugh escaped her. “You chose a fine time to ask that.” But even with death gathering just a few yards away, her heart soared.

A step closer, and he closed the distance between them so they were almost touching. His voice lowered so his words were for her alone. “I was a coward. If I could go back, I would have asked you to stay.”

“Even though I’m a mage?”

The question hung in the air between them, until his hand came up, fingertips brushing across her cheek on their way to tangle in her hair, replaced by his palm resting lightly across her skin. “If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side. Free.”

Making a small, whimpery noise in the back of her throat, she leaned in and met him in a kiss, his lips warm and yielding against her mouth, parting so that his tongue could slip in and touch, taste her own. Swaying, their bodies came together, and she felt his lean length pressed against her, the hard planes of his armor digging into her skin in a way she exulted in.

A loud cough sounded, and they broke off, turning their heads in unison to see Marian looking on with some bemusement. “If you two don’t mind, we have a battle to get to. I don’t think Meredith will take a request to postpone so you two can keep snogging.”

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Bethany stepped back from Fenris and mustered the wit to retort, “What, and she’ll wait for you two?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact she will,” Marian countered breezily. The humor bled from her when she threw Fenris a critical look, which he returned without flinching. “We’ll talk later, if we survive this, if you’ve decided to pick up with my sister.”

“Marian!” Bethany protested. “I’m a grown woman.”

Chuckling drily, a corner of Marian’s mouth quirked up in a slight grin. “You’re still my baby sister. You two are with me. Do try and keep up?” she tossed out before moving to join Merrill.

“Later?” Bethany whispered to Fenris, hope lilting the word.

With a final touch of her arm, Fenris nodded. “Later.”


End file.
